El Sasquatcho, somewhat recovered from his colonic struggle, attempted to readdress the conversation he was almost in prior to his hasty exit. He looked to Chester, pointing with a tortilla chip to emphasize his words. 

"Senor Rat Whisperer," he intoned respectfully, "El Sasquatcho is familiar with the Street Fighter series of games. Mostly, preferring to fight with the large Russian wrestler or the green Brazilian who electrocutes his adversaries. Good combos." 

He started to slow down the assault on his ethnic-inspired goodies, his bag about halfway emptied and the edge of his hunger blunted somewhat. The culinary hiatus gave him a little more opportunity to expand upon his earlier thought. "An arcade experience of particular delight is Dance Dance Revolución. El Sasquatcho does enjoy rhythmically shaking himself in front of total strangers for the approval of digital lollipop anime kids. No buttons upon which to make one's thumbs sore."

A ways into observing the conversational exchanges around the break room table, the burly luchador looked over to the moderately distressed Caitlyn, and prodded an unopened box slightly nearer to her. "Psst... If you're still hungry after this, nobody's touched the rice." He then returned to his own meal. 

That is, until the ruckus in the training area. El Sasquatcho pulled down his mask fully and filed out to investigate with the rest of the interested parties. He looked to the scene with a touch of both understanding and annoyance - he had hoped to destroy one of those damnedable machines himself, just as soon as he could beat it at at its own game, preferably at a high level of difficulty. Seemed wasteful, but everyone grieved in their own way. El Sasquatcho's grief generally involved acts of extroversion and comfort foods. He nodded at his fellow neophyte Titan, and returned to the break room. 

Before getting back to his own repast, he pulled a number of choice items aside and bagged them, then moved to locate a writing utensil. With a fat, black, magic marker, he wrote in block letters, "Ice-Guy, whenever you're ready to eat. -Us". He deposited it in a very obvious spot. 

For a moment, he had the odd feeling that this was less of a team of heroes, and more of a Metahuman support group. They were all broken, one way or another. The catastrophe with Robin just gave them a reason to come together. Maybe it was time to begin supporting each other.